


Not Beyond Repair

by laurelofthestory



Category: Nuclear Throne (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intentionally Bad Spelling & Grammar, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Cuddling, Rescue, Reunions, Threats of Violence, not sure how else to tag it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11118789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelofthestory/pseuds/laurelofthestory
Summary: The campfire is a symbol of camaraderie, warmth, and hope in the desolate Wasteland - all things that the abandoned officer desperately needs.





	Not Beyond Repair

**Author's Note:**

> Started off as a short thing. Then I didn't shut up. Why does this always happen to me. If you read this entire thing I'll be surprised, but grateful. It's taken me a week to finish and I'm just glad it's done.
> 
> (I also stopped caring about the rebreather/respirator distinction a ways in. It's probably the latter tbh, but I didn't want to have to change all the previous instances and just post the darn thing already.)

At first, he’d marked off the days he’d been here by shooting at the wall of a small cave he used as shelter from the harsh winds. His rifle’s rounds left a dark mark and a slight indentation in the brittle stone, and he could count them in groups - five across, five down.

But eventually, he’d stopped, deciding conserving his ammunition was more worthwhile than being able to mark time. You could find quite a lot scrounging in an area like this, including a surprising amount of bullets, but it was always best to save in case of an emergency. Besides, the clusters of burnt spots were just getting depressing to look at. It was almost better, he reasoned, if he didn’t know how long it’d been since he’d seen or heard another sentient being.

It wasn’t awful, aside from the solitude. The little cave cut off the worst of the wind’s bite, and not too much snow blew in onto the floor. The town was abandoned, and the only things that lived here now were mostly robotic in nature. They also didn’t see him as a threat, perhaps due to his exceptionally small stature - something he’d be frustrated about being judged for if it wasn’t so beneficial to him in this situation. He didn’t need to eat as often as most, only having to search outside for whatever poor creatures could still live in this place every few days. It was a good thing he didn’t have to eat too much, too - he had no means of rinsing what he ate of the radiation it had picked up from the environment.

The radiation levels here had been exceptionally high. That was why they’d only sent him, and they’d sent him with a fully-sealed helmet, respirator with filters, and blast-resistant body armor covering every inch of him. It cut out the cold, most of the time, but the real blessing was in the small pocket of safety that was his helmet. His rebreather was still working, forcing heavily filtered air down his throat - scrubbed of the deadly particles outside.

He didn’t want to think about what might’ve become of him if his rebreather had been compromised. He’d heard stories of what happened to people touched by the strange radioactive substances of the apocalypse timelines, and none of said stories had a happy ending - mutation beyond recognition, madness beyond repair. An addiction to the stuff that deteriorated you until there was nothing left.

Sometimes, during the long nights, he almost thought it would’ve been better to not be aware, to be so far gone that he didn’t care about his miserable situation anymore.

But for whatever reason, this world had given him a chance to make it out of this. He wouldn’t be giving that up easily.

So he kept his helmet on, he scavenged, and every day (or at least as near as he could figure; as time went on, he spent a lot of time in an almost catatonic state in the cave hoping to escape the relentless _emptiness_ of this place) he would turn on the communicator in his helmet, and he would send out a distress signal, hoping against hope that he’d hear someone answer this time.

Hunter wasn’t stupid. He knew that the I.D.P.D. had abandoned him, left him for dead. Perhaps they’d sent him on this mission _knowing_ he wouldn’t return. Perhaps they’d blocked his transmitter’s signature and he was giving his SOS to empty air.

But some part of him still wanted to believe that _someone_ was listening, that _someone_ would come back for him, someday.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But it was something to hold on to.

And so, on a day like the many others that had blurred together in his mind, Hunter sat with his back against the wall of his little cave, rattling off the distress call he’d long since memorized into the comm link; name, call-sign, identification number, dimensional and physical coordinates that had been given to him before he’d been dispatched. A brief explanation of his situation, alone in the frozen wastelands of an apocalypse dimension with no means of leaving, thanks to the ravenous mutant creatures that lurked at the base of the mountai. And a request for help; I.D.P.D. portals only went one way, and he didn’t have a portal generator on him.

As usual, once his voice cut off, all he heard in his ear was static and clicking. It was a sound he’d gotten used to, and mostly tuned out by now, but he took notice of it - really concentrated on it - for about five minutes after he sent the transmission. And then Hunter sighed, pulled himself to his feet, and headed out of the cave, clutching his rifle - a large, blue and black thing bigger than his head - in both arms like something precious.

He’d have to search for something to eat tonight, not something he particularly looked forward to. Eating the game around here, however much he tried to prepare it, always left the inside of his mouth tingling strangely, and the food held an aftertaste of something incomprehensible and disgusting...though slowly becoming more pleasant as he tasted it more, to the point where it was almost a craving.

That’d be the beginnings of rad addiction. He couldn’t get used to that.

Hunter easily ducked between the legs of a snow tank, darting along the walls of the frozen city cut into the mountainside. Yet again, Hunter wished he didn’t have to walk, but he’d wasted all of his jetpack fuel getting up to the mountain’s peak in search of the yeti mutant that the I.D.P.D. had sent him after. He’d spent some time mulling over the possibility of using rads as fuel, but hadn’t taken any action to refine it just yet - honestly, he didn’t want to go near the stuff, and was secretly hoping he’d find some fuel around here, like he tended to find ammunition and discarded weapons.

The noise of mechanical whirring and crunching snow followed him as he passed by the various metal creatures that inhabited the frozen city. They noticed him, but only as something like an insect. Which was good, because he could tell they were packing quite a lot of firepower he didn’t want turned on him.

There was a ridge somewhat below the frozen city that stretched on flat for some distance, a good substitute for a plain, covered over with stubby bushes. Hunter had most of his luck here, and was about to start the arduous task of climbing down to it when a noise rang out, unbelievably loud in the silent city.

_Boom._

Hunter froze, his eyes widening behind his darkened visor. Things here exploded, sometimes - cars, robots, what-have-you - but he could tell that this sound was different. It was a sound that was loud and powerful, but almost too deep to hear, something you moreso felt in your chest than heard with your ears.

It was a sound that he’d heard many times. _It was the sound of a portal ripping itself into existence._

Hunter stood still and listened for a few moments, his heart sinking as he realized that it probably wasn’t an I.D.P.D. portal - apart from the boom, there was no sound, and the I.D.P.D. were always a dreadfully noisy bunch, followed by sirens and gunfire and comms chatter and an unnecessary amount of shouting.

But still, a portal was a portal, and portals usually led somewhere. Hunter pressed his back to the wall, hesitantly reaching up to turn off his comms link so he could hear the outside world better.

There was the customary whistling of the wind, the mechanical whirring. But there was something else, too - gunshots, and, as Hunter continued to listen, the sound of distant, more ordinary explosions. It sounded as if something had _definitely_ come out of the portal, and had started a firefight - and was surprisingly holding their own against the metal creatures who protected the city, given the fact that the sounds of shots didn’t immediately peter out.

Hunter half-stumbled, half-snuck around the walls, keeping his back to the ridges and the rocky outcroppings as he moved towards the sounds, holding his rifle at the ready, his gaze darting around for any signs of movement. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was unconsciously bending his knees, keeping himself lower to the ground despite the fact that he was only four feet tall.

You couldn’t trust anything in the Wasteland. That was something his supervisors had made quite clear, and he was inclined to believe it for the most part - even if their reasons for fearing the Wasteland’s inhabitants did not make sense to him.

The sounds gradually grew nearer, until they were almost unbearably loud even through his helmet. Taking a few deep breaths of filtered air through his rebreather, he peeked around the corner of the next ridge, looking around for the source of the shots.

It was about the size of the bandits he’d occasionally see wandering about the outskirts, but it definitely didn’t look like one. Instead of wrappings, it was wearing what looked to be the nigh-unrecognizable remains of a tattered and torn police uniform, barely managing to do its job of covering up the one who was wearing it to a sad degree of decency. It was humanoid, though the skin Hunter could see on its face and under the shreds of uniform were tinted a sickly green-yellow, and it appeared to have fins sticking out of its arms. One of its eyes was covered by an eyepatch, but the other was bulbous and stuck out of the face in a way that was very disconcerting, with a slitted pupil. Its large, yellowed lips were perpetually half open, flapping uselessly as the gills on its neck took in air for it.

It was also wielding a shotgun with a crossbow slung across its back, and was wailing on the robotic creatures shooting at it with the calm precision of someone who had been doing this sort of thing for a very, _very_ long time.

Hunter quickly ducked back around the wall before he could be noticed, staring at the snow in front of him and chewing at the corner of the plastic around his mouth apprehensively. Of course, the first sentient life he’d seen in this place that wasn’t a bandit was a mutant. The I.D.P.D. were actively antagonizing the _muties_ of the apocalypse timelines, claiming that they were after something that would throw off the balance of the multiverse and put everyone in every world in danger; that they were unnatural, and had to be destroyed before they could meddle where they were not welcomed. Hunter personally had never understood the department’s hatred - it wasn’t like the mutants had had a choice in their fate. And they weren’t so different. The I.D.P.D. was made up almost entirely of ‘enhanced’ humans, genetically manipulated and modified to their liking.

No one had asked any of them if they’d wanted this.

But it was likely the...fish-mutant wouldn’t see it that way, Hunter knew. The inhabitants of the Wasteland had mostly learned to gun down anything blue. Still, he didn’t want to hurt an innocent, he wanted to take a stab at communicating with it...He stared down at his rifle, uncertain.

He didn’t want to shoot, unless the fish-mutant shot first.

As he looked up, he noticed that the noise of gunshots had passed, leaving nothing but the wind...and a crunching of snow nearby him, accompanied by a sickly sucking noise. Hunter pressed himself into the wall, internally cursing himself for losing track of the battle - now he didn’t have any time to hide.

Hunter backed up several steps along the wall, away from the corner the sounds were coming from, still holding his rifle in a ready position. The fish-mutant came around the corner, and immediately spotted him with its good eye. It made a grumbling noise and immediately raised its shotgun, firing at him without a second thought. Hunter’s instincts kicked in, and he dropped to the ground on his stomach, pressing himself into the snow as low as he could as the pellets whizzed over him.

His breath came almost too fast and harsh for his rebreather to keep up with as he looked up to the mutant standing above him, currently in the process of reloading. It had shot, just like that - of course it had, he was blue and he was certain nothing in the Wasteland had been kind to it. But he didn’t want a fight to break out, maybe he could try and get through to it - it looked like it’d been a cop at one point, right?

Hunter raised his hands palms forward, still lying on the ground. “Wait! I mean you no harm!”

The fish-mutant paused, scrutinizing him and tilting its head to one side. The look on its face almost resembled confusion, and Hunter felt a lurch of dread as he remembered something else he’d been told about the Wasteland; the mutants here tended to create their own language, their own means of communicating with each other despite their drastic physical changes. The language never evolved quite the same way between timelines, so the I.D.P.D. couldn’t get enough of a grasp of it to speak it, and had never bothered trying.

_The mutant couldn’t understand him._

“I mean no harm!” Hunter repeated, his tone urgent, though switching his language from the one most of the I.D.P.D. used to communicate with each other to Common (what might’ve long ago been known as English in this world).

The mutant tilted its head to the other side, lowering the shotgun slightly as if to get a better look at him. There was some sort of understanding in the mutant’s eye, and Hunter held his breath. How was this even going to work? Could the mutant even _speak?_

The mutant did not lower the shotgun, but did move its lips, making a deep, distorted gurgling noise that Hunter realized was its voice.

It pointed at him with the shotgun. “I.D.P.D.?” it asked, its tone coming off as harsh even if the sounds of the letters were mangled by its lips.

Hunter swallowed hard, considering how to respond. He nodded, then abruptly shook his head. “I was. I don’t think I am anymore. They left me...”

The words still hurt to say. It was something that he didn’t even like to admit to himself, that he was _the one they left behind._ For whatever reason - perhaps due to his questioning authority, or his sympathy for the mutants - they’d decided there was no need to bring him home from this frozen, irradiated hellscape.

But even still, if he saw any of them again, he wouldn’t shoot. He wasn’t angry, not anymore. He just wanted to know _why._

The fish mutant hesitated for a moment, as if trying to figure out what he’d just said, before using one half-flipper half-hand to gesture for him to get up. Hunter did so, slowly, scooping up his rifle from the snow nearby. As soon as the mutant saw this, it grunted what sounded like a negative, pointing at the rifle, then down at its feet. _Put that down._

It took Hunter a moment to comply. He still wasn’t sure that the mutant wasn’t just going to shoot him the moment he stood unarmed, but honestly...if he thought about it, the mutant had every reason to shoot him, and no reason to trust him. Perhaps it’d be better if it ended like that.

It wasn’t like he had much left to lose by it, anymore.

Hunter set the gun at the mutant’s feet and stood to his full, small height, holding his hands above his head palms out before setting them flat on top of his helmet, feeling horribly naked without his rifle. Behind his visor, he screwed his eyes shut, awaiting the sound of the shotgun. His armor would probably take most of the blast for him, but that didn’t mean the blunt force wouldn’t hurt like hell, and would likely leave him too stunned to try to defend himself, even if he wanted to.

One second. Then two. Then five.

Then the hollow sound of something _tap-tap-tapping_ at his visor.

He flinched a bit, startled, and leaned away, blinking his eyes open to see that the mutant had closed the distance between them. Its face was close enough to his for Hunter to see the scales that covered its skin, and it was holding out its hand-flipper. It tapped at the visor again with an expression that was something like impatience, and made an upwards gesture. The message was clear; _take that thing off._

Hunter was reluctant - he had taken off his visor here before, very briefly, in order to eat whatever he’d managed to catch. The wind hurt, the cold stung, and the more radiation that touched his skin, the worse off he’d be. But if he didn’t, Hunter suspected he’d be shot - he was between a rock and a hard place.

And so Hunter slowly moved his hands to the sides of his helmet, and clicked the buttons that would slide his visor up from the rest of his helmet. There was a hiss of escaping air, and he felt the rebreather suction even tighter to his face.

The bitter cold of the wind and bright light reflecting off the snow hit him like a hammer, sending his eyes squinting almost shut and his skin taut. As he stood there trying to become used to it, he could feel the odd sensation of his face becoming freezing cold while the rest of him stayed perfectly warm inside the airtight suit. The air stung and tingled in the same way the food here did. Eventually, Hunter managed to open his eyes fully and stared up at the fish mutant, trying to communicate urgency with large green eyes. He didn’t want to leave himself exposed for too long...

A glint of...something almost like recognition reached the fish mutant’s bulbous eye. It leaned in and examined his face, then nodded to itself, stepped back, and gestured downwards with a hand. Hunter quickly slammed his visor back down with a breath of relief as the cold no longer assailed him.

And then, to his surprise, the fish mutant holstered its shotgun.

Hunter raised a hand as if to question this, but the mutant pointed for him to wait. It picked up his rifle and rounded the corner again, and Hunter almost sank into the snow in relief. He couldn’t let his guard down, but clearly something about him had made this mutant reconsider.

What was it doing...?

He could hear it walking around out there, its feet occasionally scuffing noisily against the already compressed snow. The footsteps stopped, and there was the sound of something cracking.

The mutant soon returned around the ridge, walking past Hunter and gesturing for him to follow. It held Hunter’s rifle in one arm, and a large, pointed icicle in its other hand. For a hysterical moment, Hunter wondered if the mutant was going to stab him with the icicle so there’d be no signs of a murder weapon...but that was ridiculous, there was no one to persecute a criminal out here.

They were probably the only two cops within a thousand miles, after all.

Hunter followed after the fish-mutant, who was glancing around, seemingly looking for something. It suddenly veered to the left, towards one of the untouched patches of snow, and knelt down in front of it. There was always snow coming down in the frozen city, and it never seemed to melt, so much of it had been crushed down into a dense layer of icy pavement by the city’s inhabitants. But if no one stepped on it, there was usually a small layer of fluff on top of the more compacted flakes.

Hunter walked up behind the fish-mutant, barely able to see over its shoulder despite the fact that it was kneeling. It kept his rifle in one arm, and was using the point of the icicle to draw something in the thin upper layer of snow. The snowy sketch wasn’t the best, but it was still recognizable as a human head, even if there were some lines in places they didn’t belong. Hunter absently wondered whether this cop had had to draw suspects before...

A round face, lines over the forehead for hair cut off sharply near the person’s eyebrows, and down to their neck. Big eyes. A few scribbled lines that kept the lower half of the face from being visible...what were those supposed to be? Three horizontal lines, some sort of upside-down triangle, and then three more horizontal lines, all in a row. Hunter unconsciously raised a hand to his chin - of course, it bumped into his rebreather.

Wait. _His rebreather._

The masks were standard issue for any I.D.P.D. unit being sent into hostile, volatile, or unknown dimensions, a metal piece attached to the bottom the helmet that could also be secured around the head with straps. They covered the nose and mouth, with vents on either side. _The lines in the picture must’ve been an I.D.P.D. rebreather._

He stared at the picture, flabbergasted. The person sketched in the snow didn’t click in his mind until the fish-mutant cracked its icicle into pieces, setting two chunks on top of the drawing’s eyes.

Ice was blue.

So were her eyes.

The fish-mutant looked up from its drawing, glancing over its shoulder at Hunter with a questioning look. Hunter took a step back, opening and closing his mouth, but not managing to get anything out. He was absolutely dumbfounded - no, that couldn’t be her, how would this mutant know her? But the picture in the snow, however messy, certainly _looked_ like her.

The fish mutant pointed between Hunter and the picture, getting that impatient look on its face again. “I - “ Hunter managed to stammer out, before nodding vigorously, “I know her! Or - at least, I think I do, I think that’s her - how do you...?”

He trailed off. The mutant nodded in satisfaction and stood, turning to face him once more. It tilted its head to the side and gave him an intent, questioning look, asking silently for information. Hunter shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“She...” He gave a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet, “...I think that’s my best friend. She’s in the force, too...Her name is Alicia.”

There was something almost like pity in the mutant’s eye, but it was hard to tell given its appearance. It pointed at the picture, and managed to spit out another single word in Common.

“Rogue.”

“Rogue...?” Hunter shook his head, “Wait, did she...defect? Did she - “ It didn’t matter. His voice grew sharp. “Where is she?”

The mutant made a sound like a sigh, and again gestured for Hunter to follow, before walking off the way he’d come. Hunter hurriedly followed, barely a foot behind, his mind racing.

They’d been friends since they’d been young and in training, both holding a certain distaste for authority if they didn’t like what it said, and a strong sense of justice. Unlike a lot of the others, the two were truly there out of a desire to make things better - not only because they’d been, quite literally, born for the job. To serve and protect - something that they’d hoped the department stood for, too.

Apparently, the department didn’t give a damn.

The two walked past the remains of the mutant’s firefight. Huge black blast marks marred the white snow, the remains of snow bandits laid about oozing greenish blood through their wrappings, and spent shells, broken crossbow bolts, and pieces of burnt scrap metal were scattered about everywhere. Hunter was honestly impressed that the mutant had done so well at clearing out this part of the city. Around when he’d first been stranded here, a small troupe of bandits had attempted to tangle with the snowbots and snow tanks - no one had crossed the mechanical masters of the city again after a car had gotten thrown into the middle of their camp.

The mutant suddenly stopped, and Hunter nearly ran into it. The mutant pointed down at something. It took Hunter a moment to spot it a few yards ahead of them, as it blended in to the blackened ground, but when he did, he gasped audibly - it was a portal. Not the kind he was used to; it was purple and raged like an angry hurricane rather than being blue and measured and contained. It put him in mind of some ancient, primal force that _refused_ to be controlled. Even from here, he could feel it tugging at his body, sending him sliding a few inches across the ground towards it before he quickly planted his feet.

“Is she on the other side of that?” he asked, turning to the fish-mutant.

It shook its head, and walked a few steps away from the portal, noticeably struggling against its pull. It found a smaller piece of scrap metal and laboriously began carving it into the much more compacted snow.

Hunter went to take a closer look, fighting the portal. As it took more physical effort, this drawing was more crude, but it could get the message across; a spiral, then a dashed squiggly line, then another spiral, and another dashed line. This repeated a few times before coming to an end at a messy image of what looked like a flame. On this flame, the fish mutant drew an X, then scooted back, using another patch of snow to draw something else.

Or, as Hunter soon realized, to _write_ something else.

The letters were messy, but they were Common and he understood them.

_“Look for the campfire.”_

Hunter swallowed the lump in his throat. “So it’s a network of portals?”

The mutant nodded, casting aside the scrap metal and standing to its full height again. It looked down at him with a quiet, wary sort of respect.

Hunter nodded as well, “Okay. Look for the campfire. Got it. Thank you, officer.”

He saluted, and the mutant responded in kind. It was impossible to tell the expression on its face; to Hunter, it seemed unbearably weary, but pleased with itself.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but, uh, good luck.”

The mutant seemed surprised by this, but it nodded again. It held out Hunter’s rifle, which Hunter eagerly took in both arms, and clapped him on the shoulder, saying something in what Hunter could only assume was the mutants’ language. He hoped it was a “good luck” and not an “it’s your funeral”.

Hunter turned on a heel and quickly headed for the indicated portal, clutching the gun close so he wouldn’t lose it in transit. Just looking at that angry, swirling mass made him nervous - it definitely wasn’t going to be the same as an I.D.P.D. portal. But he could sense that he’d already passed the event horizon without noticing, the portal’s force pulling at him like an invisible string that would not let him retreat. He looked over his shoulder one last time, to see the mutant who had rescued him was already walking away, its shotgun out once again.

He was glad another I.D.P.D. officer hadn’t gotten to it first.

Hunter turned around just as his feet went over the edge, and all at once he was _flung_ into the ether.

The purple portals turned out to, indeed, be absolutely nothing like I.D.P.D. portals. He was used to making jumps through a sleek, blue tunnel of interdimensional space, keeping his head forward and, for the few moments it lasted, feeling almost as if he were flying.

This was as violent and uncontrollable as it had looked from the outside. It _threw_ him around unceremoniously in the same spot for several seconds, shaking him up like the contents of a blender before throwing him in a direction that vaguely qualified as ‘forward’. It was rough and bumpy and he couldn’t right his position in the tunnel, stuck in a rapid spin that forced him to use all of his willpower to avoid vomiting into his rebreather. Wind seemed to howl in his ears as he tumbled, and he couldn’t tell which way was ahead.

He could not see the slightly lighter purple at the end of the tunnel rushing towards him, and ended up thrown bodily to the ground, unable to prepare himself for the landing. The wind was knocked out of him, though his armor left him unharmed, and he rolled over on his back, wheezing.

Before he could recover, some manner of orange spider jumped onto his chest, and he shot it instinctively, and he was off.

He had a campfire to find.

* * *

The portals got easier to handle, if no less wild, each time he went through one. But the journey across the network of portals was still grueling. Wherever he went, there were corpses strewn about, giving hints of the mutant having been there before. But apparently, some creatures had moved back in since the mutant’s destructive rampage, and in order to open up the next portal, Hunter had to kill anything remaining.

It seemed that most of the big stuff had already been taken care of, so he was spared the worst of it, but it was still a very long walk - through an eerie cavern, then a scrapyard, then a sewer, and finally the desert. But he was determined, forced onwards by the thought of a friendly face after all of his maddening solitude.

After trekking a frustrating distance through arid desert, the next portal threw him out onto ground that was more rocky than sandy. Hunter skidded a bit, sparks flying from his armor where it scraped against the stone, before he managed to catch himself and use his momentum to roll himself to his feet. Immediately, he looked about for hostiles, but there didn’t seem to be anything in the vicinity.

Hunter could only assume this new area was cooler than the desert he’d just left, given that the air here wasn’t shimmering with heat haze. Off in the distance, he could see a great cliffside, time-worn, with a crack in the side that would likely be just large enough for an especially small person to fit through.

This was where Hunter headed, unsure of where else to go. He didn’t know where the portal network ended, so he’d keep fighting until he saw the campfire that already burned bright in his mind.

The whole area was very...plain, and the sky was cloudless. The sun was beginning to set, but still gave the place a warm glow. It was a far cry from the constantly snowed-over city that had become his forced home, and he was glad for it. Part of the reason he’d enjoyed working with the I.D.P.D. so much was because you tended to see so many strange things traveling the dimensions...

He reached the rock formation, crawling through the crack in the stone and inadvertently falling into a few inches of water - which, of course, came up to his knees. The small sniper awkwardly climbed through the canyon holding his rifle to his chest, trying to get some height to see what he might be dealing with on the other side.

His heart stopped as he caught a glimpse of the other side. Out of the canyon and down a rocky slope, he could see a few shapes, some of which were moving. And there was a light, faint and flickering - the light of a fire.

He’d found it.

Hunter couldn’t recognize any of the shapes from where he was standing, so he scrambled to reach the other side. The fissure eventually widened and he stepped out onto the slope, struggling to keep his balance and avoid a tumble, instead climbing carefully over and around rocks half his size or more, trying to keep his rifle from slipping out of his arms, the campfire his only focus.

...Until a gunshot rang out and a bullet embedded itself into the stone three inches from his head.

Hunter froze and went rigid, rolling himself over to see who had shot, fumbling to ready his rifle in case things were about to go south. He could see something white at the base of the slope, but quickly approaching him, seemingly paying no heed to the terrain. As the shape drew nearer, Hunter realized that it was because the...whatever-it-was was _floating._

It was unlike any creature he’d ever seen before - a simple, apparently flat white triangle sporting noodle-like black arms and legs crossed underneath it as it hovered. Its only notable feature was a large eye in the middle of what Hunter supposed could be described as its ‘face’.

Well, that and the golden revolver it was twirling in one hand, the barrel of which was still smoking from the warning shot.

Hunter tried to back up as the strange being - it couldn’t possibly be a mutant, could it? - approached, but he knew he couldn’t get far; it had the mobility advantage. It drifted towards him, somehow managing to convey an annoyed expression with only its eye as it stopped barely inches away from him.

Somehow, the triangle was taller than him. Of _course_ it was taller than him.

“u popo?”

“What?” Hunter was surprised that it spoke Common, albeit with an atrocious accent he couldn’t place that made it very difficult to understand.

The triangle crossed its arms, eye narrowing as it pointed at him with the barrel of the revolver. “u. _po-leez._ comin 2 strt smthn?”

It took Hunter a few seconds to parse the short sentence. “I - no, I’m not - well, I used to be, but I’m not anymore.”

“mhm. suuure. u gone strait. an im not da god of da gunz.” It seemed irritated, and Hunter could only guess that it was being sarcastic. “we don wan no popo. ur lucky, im feelin generuz 2day; u got 3 secs 4 last werdz, an then i pop pop ur face.”

Hunter scrambled backwards as best he could, assuming that getting ‘pop popped’ in the face would probably be very unpleasant. He let go of his rifle to raise his hands, shaking his head violently.

“Wait, no, you don’t understand, I was - “

“thos r sum funni last werdz, lil popo.”

Hunter heard the sound of the revolver cocking, and the business end was shoved against his visor. His visor was supposed to be impact-proof, but he wasn’t sure how heavily it had been tested...or whether it could take a bullet at point blank.

Hunter pressed himself back into the stone as far as he could, wishing that he could disappear into it. He’d had nothing to lose when the fish mutant had been ready to gun him down, but now he had one hope - and he did not come this far to have it taken away from him.

“Wait - “ he began.

“ _Wait!_ ” came another voice from the base of the slope. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

Hunter’s eyes went wide, and he struggled to look around the gun-toting triangle looming over him. The triangle pulled back the revolver, rolling its eye.

“wut u want, gud popo?”

His breath froze in his throat. Could that be...

“Let me take a look at him.”

 _It was._ It _had_ to be.

Hunter’s hands flew to his helmet, and he fumbled with shaking fingers for the buttons that would raise his visor. Cool desert air hit his face as it was exposed, and he tried to sit up, to look for the sounds of crunching rocks coming from in front of him, but the triangle blocked his way.

The triangle snorted, “wow. didnt kno da popo was hirin kiddos nao.”

Hunter snarled, an alarming look on his youthful face. “ _I am a grown man,_ now move - ”

“Y.V., move!”

Someone bodily shoved the triangle away, and he found himself staring into another face - a much more familiar one.

She was more worn-looking than when he’d last seen her, her uniform torn and dirtied, a strange white pack he didn't know on her back, but she was more than recognizable. Hair abruptly chopped off at her forehead and past her neck, large blue eyes, half her face hidden by an I.D.P.D.-issue respirator.

It was the girl from the picture. It was _her._

“...Hunter?”

Though his face was hidden behind his own mask, he hoped she could tell he was smiling.

“One an’ only.”

All at once, Alicia threw herself at him and hugged him tightly. For once, Hunter was glad that he was so small - when she hugged him, he was completely surrounded, and he liked that more than he cared to admit. He hugged back as best he could, and they stayed like that for some time, savoring that moment as if they were both afraid of what would happen if they let go.

“ok, ok, waz da deal wit u an the talkin bluberry?”

Alicia laughed, almost hysterically, and pulled back, reaching out a hand to help Hunter up. He gratefully accepted, and shifted his position so he was sitting with his rifle in his lap. The triangle, off to one side, looked annoyed at having been shoved.

“It’s okay, Y.V.,” Alicia said to the triangle, “He’s a friend of mine. He won’t sell us out.”

The triangle, Y.V., scoffed and turned its back to them, already hovering off down the mountain. “wutevr u say, roge.”

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “Roge - I mean, Rogue. That’s what the other mutant called you...”

“Other mutant? How did you even - ” She shook her head, “Nevermind, let’s get you down to the campfire. Looks like you’ve had a rough time.”

He rolled his eyes as she helped him to stand. “You have no idea.”

“I think I have _some_ idea,” she replied, giving him a knowing look.

* * *

The next hour or so was an absolute whirlwind of activity. Thankfully, most of the mutants were more accepting, or at least tolerant, of his presence than Y.V. was, so long as Alicia reminded them that he was a friend of hers. One of the mutants - a small figure who was completely covered in purple rock - almost immediately started fussing over him, and even as awkward and embarrassing as it was, Hunter was secretly a little glad for it.

It was nice to have someone caring about his well-being again.

The mutants all spoke a strange language that Alicia explained was referred to as ‘Trashtalk’, so communicating was a bit difficult. Fortunately, both Alicia and a large, bulky man wearing nothing but surprisingly snappy dress pants knew Trashtalk as well as Common, and were able to translate for him.

He learned that the mutants here were referred to by something like very descriptive call-signs, having little use for real names in the middle of the apocalypse - Rogue was just in keeping with the trend. He quickly learned most of the names thanks to Rogue and Steroids’ explanations, along with their quirks - Crystal was the group mom, Yung Venuz was apparently a god from Venus and no one really knew why he was there, Eyes couldn’t talk (but could, surprisingly, write in both Trashtalk and Common, as well as sign). Hunter was rather startled when a few more mutants suddenly returned to the fire from a supply run, including a desert bandit - but apparently, the bandit was a defector, and a ‘friend’ according to Rogue (her voice had cracked and shot up half an octave when she’d said it; Hunter decided to save his questions about that for later).

When Hunter eventually asked about the strange fish-mutant who had rescued him, the campsite grew quiet and a certain melancholy fell over the mutants. Apparently, the mutant, who’d unsurprisingly gone by Fish, was once the de facto leader of the little group, but had recently left on a journey to seek the Nuclear Throne - a great power that could, supposedly, fix all the damage wrought by the radiation. Fish had insisted on going alone in case something happened to him, and all that was left of him at camp was a worn and weathered guitar.

Of course, Hunter knew about the Nuclear Throne. It was, indeed, powerful - powerful enough to wreak havoc across the dimensions, depending on who used it. He’d heard talk of mutants with a spark of hope and determination seeking it out, which was one of the reasons the I.D.P.D. had wanted to impede them as much as possible, but he hadn’t made the connection with Fish.

He hoped Fish would make it.

They ate together (the food still had that strange aftertaste to it, but it wasn’t nearly as strong), and then Rogue offered to take first watch. She walked several yards away from the fire into the desert night, and glanced over her shoulder at him with a raised brow. Hunter took the hint and, leaving his jetpack behind him, he followed after her.

Rogue sat down on a smooth patch of stone, and Hunter sat beside her. The desert was cold at night, but his suit kept him warm, just as it had done in the much colder frozen city. The sky was perfectly clear, clearer than he’d ever seen it, making it easy to spot the strange stars of this world dusting the horizon. After a moment’s hesitation, Hunter pulled off his respirator - Rogue had told him this place was a bit of a safe haven from the heavier radiation, she wore her mask mostly because the others were used to it by now. Hunter took a deep breath of fresh air for the first time in what felt like years, savoring the feeling of the cool, unfiltered air.

“...So...” he began, casually, “Rogue, huh?”

She glanced over at him and nodded. “That’s just what they started calling me. I don’t mind it.”

Hunter was silent for a moment.

“...Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?”

“Why’d you leave?” Hunter turned fully to face her, “You know defecting from the I.D.P.D. is unheard of. And you had a good thing going, there - you were moving up, everyone thought you were promising, you got that internship working with the Captain herself...”

Rogue pulled a face he could see even behind her mask. “That woman is a _piranha._ ”

“Don’t I know it.” He gave a weak chuckle that quickly faded. “...But that doesn’t answer my question. Why?”

Rogue let out a long sigh, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. It took her a long time to answer.

“...You know I was never the _best_ with authority.”

“Not when it didn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, exactly. I told you I wasn’t sure about the whole thing, and then...well...I couldn’t just leave you out there to die, or worse...”

Hunter’s eyes widened, and he placed a hand on her arm. “Wait, are you saying you did this...for me?”

Rogue nodded. “They wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened to you, I just knew you should’ve been back, but you weren’t. I had to go snooping around in the files.”

“And...?”

“...They’d already closed your case. Just like that. They didn’t even _try._ ” Her voice had grown bitter, and she stared down at the ground with narrowed eyes.

“Did...” Hunter swallowed, “...did they say why they never came back for me?”

“No. I took your file to the Captain. She wouldn’t tell me anything, either. So I figured I had to take matters into my own hands.” Rogue gestured back towards camp, and the strange white backpack she’d left there. “I stole _that_ thing and booked it. Got half the force on my tail.”

“That’s so _like_ you...” he replied, sounding vaguely amused, before lowering his head as well. “I guess I’m never gonna find out why, am I...?”

Silence. Rogue looked miserable. Hunter decided not to press it. “...And the mutants?”

“Ran into them out in the wasteland. Couple of them helped me with the troops following me. They’re...they’re good people, Hunter. Much better than we give them credit for. They look out for each other, and they were willing to help me. Eventually, I told them what I was after. I showed them those old pictures of us from the photobooth, remember when we skipped to go to the carnival in Delta-Niner?”

“Heh, yeah. The Captain nearly bit our heads off, but it was worth it. And it worked out too. Pretty sure that Fish guy would’ve shot me if he didn’t know what I looked like...”

The two lapsed into silence for a good long while, staring out into the night. Hunter got the sense that Rogue wasn’t even paying attention to the world, despite her excuse of keeping watch. Given that Hunter could see the glow of the group’s radioactive “guard dog” hovering nearby, Hunter suspected she didn’t even need to.

Eventually, Rogue spoke, her voice so quiet that Hunter nearly missed it.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her arm, “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but...I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve done more.”

“Hey, we’re both alive. I think that’s a success.”

“I guess...” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, “We’re just lucky Fish found you before it was too late. ...I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if you’d been...compromised up there.”

A chill ran down Hunter’s spine inside the warm suit, the echoes of worlds and timelines that did not exist here. He knew enough about the multiverse from his I.D.P.D. training to understand that it was infinite, full of infinite decisions and possibilities branching endlessly. There could very well be one timeline, or many, where things had taken a turn for the worse - perhaps his respirator had malfunctioned, or he’d simply given up and given in to the isolation, seeking out anything that might make the situation more tolerable, give him some form of comfort. There were so many things that could’ve gone wrong. He was just lucky enough to be in the timeline where he could sit next to his best friend again.

The world had given him a chance to make it out of there.

It was a heavy thought that weighed on his small shoulders. Hunter leaned against Rogue’s side, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You okay?” asked Rogue.

“Uh...as okay as I can be. Just tired.”

Hunter wouldn’t be surprised if Rogue understood the same things about the implications of the multiverse as he did, but just in case she hadn't thought of it, he didn’t want to burden her. It was all a little more existential and bizarre than he cared to deal with, anyway - he’d known going into the I.D.P.D. that there’d be some strange situations, but that didn’t mean he liked thinking about them too hard.

They were here now, they were alive and okay, and that was what mattered.

And god, he really was tired. Hunter considered for a moment, then let his head slip from Rogue’s arm as he crawled into her lap and curled up there like a small child.

Rogue was surprised, leaning back a bit and propping her hands behind her. “The hell?” A smirk played across what he could see of her face, “I thought you _weren’t_ a little kid.”

“I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“You hated when I put you in my lap so you wouldn’t get sat on in the van that one time.”

“Mmph, shut up.”

But it was good natured. They teased each other like friends should - they always had. It was always a bright spot in the endless bureaucratic mire that was the I.D.P.D., and Hunter expected it would be here as well, in this irradiated hell of a world. Besides, he was just glad not to be alone in a cave tonight, breathing fresh air, back with his best friend. And maybe out here, he could do a better job of protecting people than he’d been able to with the I.D.P.D.’s meddling.

It was going to be a hard life, but at least he wasn’t going to be facing it alone anymore. But for right now, honestly? He wouldn't mind being treated like the child he looked like, but had never gotten to be

Rogue sighed and shook her head slightly with a little smile, and absently rested her hand on top of his head, the other behind her to keep herself balanced. And she leaned back and stared up into the desert moon and the stars that she’d never been able to see in her own world, and she thanked anything that was out there for finally bringing him home.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for Nuclear Throne, and I haven't even gotten that far in it. I may or may not write more in this AU if there's interest, I really am enjoying developing all this way more than I should.
> 
> Yes, I made some of the mutants a little more reasonable looking (and clothed), though they're still definitely mutants. The language Hunter speaks when first communicating with Fish is analogous to Finnish. Fish is one of the mutants who vaguely remembers English, but it takes effort for him to recall it as it's been years since he used it regularly, and he has trouble speaking it because, well, he's a fish. Can you imagine how hard it probably is to talk English with _fish lips?_
> 
> ...Also yes, I had to give a nod to the Rogue/Rebel ship. It's like a quarter of the Tumblr tag and I thought it would be funny.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> EDIT: ON THE DAY I POSTED THIS FIC I FINALLY BEAT THE THRONE FOR THE FIRST TIME! Rogue my precious I can't play as you for crap but AT LEAST I HAVE YOU NOW.


End file.
